Whenever we leave Nebraska for California midwinter, an undressing ritual is involved. In a car with heat blasting from the dashboard we shimmy out of our fluffy winter coats and make a dash for the airport in something more suited to mild San Francisco climes. The jaunt from car to shuttle, or car to airport this time, is a heart-racing, frozen-nostril kind of event, but knowing I’m heading towards warmer temps is enough to keep my spirits up. Returning home is another thing entirely. By this time those fluffy winter coats are popsicles in the backseat and the only saving grace about getting into the car is that it buffers us from the freezing plains winds.

The Lincoln airport is a funny little place. Some might call it quaint. Others might think it’s plain ridiculous. But it does the job, right? I’ve found the TSA employees there to be, at times, completely overzealous, but they were very chill this last trip. The other LNK employees are delightful in their helpfulness usually. I’m always surprised when I don’t know *anyone* waiting at the gate with me. Because anytime I go to the mall or Target or the grocery store I see someone I know.

Prepping for a trip is its own kind of exhausting and even though I love to travel I always question why I’m going through so much work to get out of town. But the moment eventually comes where you sidle up to your gate, rewrapping your scarf and perhaps rethreading your belt, and you’ve arrived. No more responsibilities. No more arrangements to make. No more instructions to give. Just you, all your anonymous travel companions, and a flight attendant who will bring you something fizzy in a little cup. Ahhhh… Let’s go.